I’ve just been looking at images of some recently demolished Tucson landmarks: The Bum Steer, which closed a while ago but was torn down last year (in this video, I can see that no one thought to rescue the covered wagon), and Duke’s Drive-In, home to the Beau Brummell Social Club and filming location for Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. Most things in New York don’t go away, if I’m comparing it to other cities that I know intimately, at least. This one’s free, I thought, as long as I get bragging rights. My favourite bar name ever is IBT’s, which stands for It’s ‘Bout Time’s. In effect, I was doing the opposite of manifesting. That we are here, discussing this, has nothing to do with manifesting, since I was almost positive that I would never see the inside of this building. The walls are so tall they feel bare, but because they are dissected by odd-shaped windows, we cannot come up with a solution to this interior design problem. An hour or two later, we are there, having a glass of wine on a leather couch. The Art Deco building has two-story high apartment units and at least one is available on Airbnb, apparently. The next day, Kevin texts me that by complete coincidence, his other visiting friend is staying there. I always notice it, of course, I say, but I’m pretty sure it’s empty. We walk up Avenue C and he remarks on the beauty of an old building with an Art Deco façade and eighties glass bricks. Some things are just a product or a service. Not everything is a product and a service. Handing me a Saran-wrapped sandwich? I don’t think so. I’m getting very Larry David about it, says Kevin, who is visiting. I have to wonder how we’ve come to a place where people who remember buying CDs now feel guilt at not paying for marked-as-free items, items on platforms that pay their creators – so much guilt, in fact, that they’ll donate to these creators using another platform, profiting several middlemen in the process.
That someone has put so much time and effort into guiding us towards restfulness is enough to move me, to be honest, but there is a built-in system of monetisation on YouTube, so in a way, the tip is included with my free videoplay. And people do, as part of our new tip-everything culture, wherein if you have an emotional response to something, you may help yourself move past it by pushing a pay button. And, of course, there are several ways to donate to Nemo’s Dreamscapes. There is even a chat section, where people discuss how effectively relaxing each track is. Some of the loops play live, so you can see how many others are listening to them, a further comfort. They are the sounds of “oldies playing in another room and it’s raining” or “you’re on the Spirited Away train with Chihiro and No-Face”: perfect mixes of muted, unstimulating music and white noise. I sometimes fall asleep to Nemo’s Dreamscapes, a YouTube channel of hours-long loops.
They laugh at things I don’t find funny and don’t laugh at things I do find funny. Everyone involved in projecting the future of wealth has a personality disorder. It becomes ever more obscure to me, in fact, the more I know about it. This should help me to understand the economy, but it does not. Money is simply a story that is being told about itself, these articles sort of say. I’ve been reading a lot about how money is really based on storytelling, just like cults and fashion and art. Natasha Stagg has a secret talent that might be profitable, if only she would stop giving it away for free. These days, you can monetise anything, or so the Internet has us believe.